A Time to Bloom (Leah's Garden #2)(56)

John sat huddled into himself a moment, then, with a stiff movement, shifted his paper to the rock. He bent over it with his pencil and added slender leaves to his clump of asters, still crude but recognizable.

“Lovely.” Del smiled and touched his shoulder.

He flinched away.

She withdrew her hand, her middle clenching again. “Are you all right, John? Is your leg bothering you?”

He said nothing, just kept coloring in the leaves with his pencil.

Del lowered her voice. “John, did someone hurt you?”

He looked up at her, his eyes wide. Then his gaze darted away, and he pushed to his feet, the paper clutched and crumpling in his hand. Without a backward glance, he limped away, perhaps in search of his sister.

Del straightened, a shadow falling over the beautiful day. She shouldn’t have asked that, not yet. She’d spoken before she thought it through. Father, something isn’t right, but what am I to do about it?

She scanned the surrounding marsh, noting that the children had spread beyond the creek now. The little ones played in the muddy flats under Lilac and Mrs. Caldwell’s supervision. Ah well, they were mud-smeared already. Let them have their fun, and she’d bear any ire from the mothers. The older students still roamed the nearby portions of the marsh or crouched in patches of reeds or cattails, sketching or pushing grasses aside to study something else. Del smiled to see Elsie Weber and Betsy Jorgensen point at a bald eagle soaring in the distance, then furiously add to their drawings.

On the wagon tongue nearby, Jesse perched with a stray branch in his hand, trimming off the excess leaves and twigs with his knife. What would he be carving now? The young man’s creativity and skill with wood seemed to know no bounds. Climie sat nearby with a couple of the shyer children at her side. They watched as he held out the piece of wood and said something. Climie laughed softly, a smile touching her face.

Del swallowed. She loved seeing them happy. But what of this new closeness that seemed to be cropping up between the two? They’d both been through so much suffering in life, it made sense they’d be drawn together . . . yet Climie wasn’t free, not as long as that snake of a husband roamed about somewhere in the country.

Del tried to push aside the worry snaking up her spine. She should talk to Lark about this. Or just go talk to Climie and Jesse. Maybe it was all her imagination.

Del scanned her charges again, making sure all students were accounted for, then headed over to the wagon. “Thank you both for coming today. It makes such a difference to have extra chaperones.”

“Of course.” Climie added another wildflower to the chain she was helping Clarabelle weave. “It’s a joy.”

Joy . . . something Climie’s life had held so little of until now. Lord, please provide a way for her to keep it. “What are you carving, Jesse?”

“That eagle we s-saw.” He held out the hunk of wood for her to see. Already she could see the beginnings of wings outstretched in flight.

Del shook her head. “You are amazing.”

“Will you make me a horse and wagon like Robbie’s?” Abel leaned on Jesse’s knee.

“Sure.”

“Miss Nielsen, how come Robbie don’t come to school?”

“Doesn’t. And he’s not quite old enough. Next year, maybe.” She knew her sisters thought Robbie was ready now, but Del still held that starting too soon could do more harm than good. “How did you see Robbie’s horse and wagon?”

“He showed me one time after church.”

“Can you make anything, Mr. Jesse?” Clarabelle’s eyes stretched wide.

“Seems that way.” Climie placed the flower garland on the little girl’s head. It slid over one ear, eliciting a giggle.

Del studied Climie’s face, smiling as she adjusted the flowers. There was no untoward shyness when she spoke of Jesse. Perhaps Del had been mistaken. It was so hard to know . . . and was it really her business, anyway? Yet Jesse and Climie were both like family.

“Miss Nielsen!”

At the youthful call, she turned to see Timothy O’Rourke coming toward her, his thin face alight. He clutched his piece of paper.

“Just back there.” He pointed behind him. “We found a muskrat lodge.”

“Oh my.” Del peered and noted the brownish mound near the pond bank. “What a special thing to see.”

“Look at how they built it. Aren’t they clever? I made my drawing of it.” He held it out to show her. “They weave grasses and reeds and sticks all together, with a hole down under water to get in by.”

“Indeed.” Del bent to examine his drawing. “They’re regular little architects. And this is excellent, Timothy. Wonderful detail.” He had captured not only the finer points of the construction but also a muskrat’s nose poking up from the water nearby.

“I like to build things too.” He glanced up at her, face shy.

“Do you really? What do you like to build?”

“Well, mostly I’ve helped my da build fences and things, and the barn. But I like figuring out how to put things together. I even came up with a new way to make the fence tighter, and Da said it was fine. And I made a dollhouse for Iris out of wood scraps from the dockyard back in New York City. Made wee dormer windows and a staircase and everything. She said it was like a grand lady’s house.” He nibbled his lip. “We had to leave it behind when we came west, but I’ll make her another as soon as I can find enough scraps. There isn’t as much wood lyin’ around out here.”